


Marked

by Crysania



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2230917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>True Love's kiss can break any curse...but not in Storybrooke. This is the result of a conversation that I had with some folks about what happens if Rumple's curse can never be broken in Storybrooke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

He searches him out, as he himself was once searched out. Marked. The desperate soul, so desperate he would do anything, avoid looking at what was right before his eyes. He had been tricked, he tells himself all these years. But the reality is that somewhere deep down inside, he knows. He has always known. But such is the nature of desperation that you overlook the obvious.

To save his son he took on a curse.

To reunite with his son he cursed everyone.

And to save his son again he allowed someone else to curse them all.

It hadn’t work in the end. In the end he had lost him. All those long years ago. 56, but who was counting?

It has been two years since he lost Belle, the one shining light of his life. She faded away, withered to nothing before his eyes. He could do nothing to stop it. She would _allow_ nothing to stop it. That was his Belle. Her fate, she told him, was her own to decide and she was sure it was not to be immortal. She would pass and someday, _somehow_ , he would find a way to end his curse and find her again.

They had never found it while she was alive and so he took on the mantle of the youngster in the relationship, aiding her as best he could, and watched her slip away with her love for him on her lips. _Find me_ , she had whispered and then she was gone.

And he is alone.

_Forever_.

She was laid to rest near his son, the quiet ceremony befitting a woman who worked in a library all her life.

He is alone. Oh, he has Henry but Henry has his own family and while he visits with his grandfather occasionally, it’s not enough. _Never_ enough.

He is alone. The pawnshop is deafening in its quietness. The town is hushed. No one looks him in the eye anymore. They wonder, he’s sure, if he’ll go back to his old ways. Even David Nolan, who looks old and haggard these days, leaning heavily on the walker he must use to get around, eyes him with worry when he sees him out and about.

He’s the town pariah again, people too afraid to talk to him unless they need something from him.

But for once, it’s he who needs something from someone else. He has been looking for him, ever since Belle got sick, ever since she took her last breath. It’s taken two years, but he’s finally found him.

He can smell the desperation wafting off of him, a stench that one never quite forgets no matter how hard they try. And he’s tried over the years, tried so very hard to forget how that stench had once been _his_.

But this man? He’s desperate in a way few can understand, in a way few would ever _want_ to understand. And that ultimately works perfectly for what he wants. He needs the man to forget about everything but this one goal in life.

“Hey mister,” Rumplestiltskin says and the man turns and looks at him, looks _through_ him. He sees nothing but a young boy, lost, alone. “What you doin’?” He knows what he’s doing. He’s searching for _him_. He wants to make a deal, but it won’t be quite so easy.

“Looking for Gold,” the man mutters, one eye twitching. Oh yes, this one needs it, _craves_ it even.

“Haven’t seen him,” Rumplestiltskin says with a shrug. “What do you need that ol’ miser for anyway, mister?”

The man narrows his eyes on him. The kid’s too curious for his own good, he’s thinking. But he’ll talk, Rumplestiltskin knows. The desperate always do.

“I need to make a deal.”

“I heard he don’t make deals no more.” Ah yes, there’s the crux of the problem. The man knows this. He knows that Rumplestiltskin has retired from the deal-making, withdrawn from the public eye since his wife’s death. The pawnshop has been closed, though that doesn’t stop people from stopping by, barging in.

Rumplestiltskin is still the resident sorcerer, no matter how much he wants to hide behind his pain and anguish, no matter how much he wants to crawl into a dark hole and never come out again.

The man slumps against the side of the pawnshop. All the lines of his body scream defeat, but his eyes are still wide, bulging just a bit as he stares at the dark shop. “He has to,” the man mutters.

He’s close, Rumplestiltskin realizes. So close. All he needs is a small push off the edge, a push toward the darkness. It’s taking a chance, he knows it is, but he also remembers this feeling well. All too well. The rush of the power is too much for such a weak man. He’ll make a grab for it without asking questions. He’ll feel it, taste it, _want it_. He knows. He recognizes the haunted look in the eyes, the slight tremor to the hands. He’s on the brink.

He steps closer, a young boys eyes watching the older man squirm with anguish. “There may be a way…”

The bomb is dropped and the man’s eyes meet his. “A way?”

He nods. Slowly. Carefully. Leans forward. Conspiratorial. He has to look like this is a secret that he is excited to reveal. He’s a child after all, and children do love to tell their stories. “To force him to do it.”

“Force? The Dark One?” The man lets out a wheezing noise that Rumplestiltskin assumes is a laugh. It’s hard to tell, there in the dark, behind the pain, behind the hopelessness of a soul gone wrong. “There’s no way.”

“You haven’t heard the stories?” He sounds incredulous and it pulls the man in. He sees the moment that he starts to switch over. No longer concerned with begging, he’s thinking of taking, of getting his life back.

“Stories,” the man repeats.

The child nods and Rumplestiltskin stops himself from baring his teeth in a feral smile. He’s all sweetness and light. “About a dagger.”

There’s a momentary pause. He can see the wheels turning, the man’s eyes showing the excitement he feels that this sudden turn in the conversation. “Go on.”

And now for the moment of truth. Will he take it? Will everything that has led him down this path take him forward? Or will be lose the momentum, lose the focus, turn back at the last moment? Is it all for naught? The child steps forward. “If you possess it, you control the Dark One. You can make him do what you want him to do.”

He knows the man’s next thoughts, next words, almost by rote. He can’t control him, he’d be too frightened. What if he drops the dagger and the Dark One gets it back? What if he can’t really control the man and he takes it from him, kills him?

“If you kill him,” the child says, a bedtime story of darkness, of hate, of a vile curse gone wrong, “You take his power.”

The man stares at him, his eyes wide. Determined. He sees it there as the switch is flipped. Kill the Dark One. Take his power. You can do anything, _anything at all_. Save your family. Gain untold riches. Control the very world around you.

“Take it,” he says and while the words are a mere repeat, while he may sound dumb in that moment, Rumplestiltskin knows. He can see. The wheels are turning, the thoughts are going to all that entails.

“Yes. He keeps hidden in his safe. All you have to do is crack the code…” He needs to say no more. He melts away into the shadows, the child transforming to adult. The seed is planted. He’ll make sure everything points to the dagger’s location. He’ll make sure the code cracks whether or not the man can figure it out.

It’s won’t be long now. He withdraws to the back of his pawnshop, sets foot in it for what he hopes is the final time. It’s been his world for this many years. It feels like a hundred, but that’s only been since Belle has been gone. The years preceding that flew by and before he could even blink, her life had been snuffed out.

He touches the cot in the back, remembers impromptu sessions of lovemaking, scrambling to throw their clothes back on when someone would barge into the shop despite the closed sign. He remembers Belle’s first miscarriage, then the second, and finally the doctor shaking his head and telling him they could no longer try. He remembers holding her on the cot as she cried, unable to face anyone and so remaining in the back of the shop while they mourned their losses.

He steps out in front, feels the counters, remembers the times his anger and cane had taken out the glass. It had always been set to rights but the shattered glass was always a part of his soul. He remembers not being able to leave, feeling trapped. Only through Belle had he finally settled into Storybrooke and been able to accept his lot in life.

He remembers hours spent in the back of the shop, brewing potions, kissing Belle. They tried to rid him of his curse for a decade or more before finally throwing in the towel and enjoying what time they had left. He knew, though, that Belle was disappointed, that she had hoped the strength of her love would overcome it all.

It didn’t.

The magic here was weak, sometimes sluggish, and seemed unable to break the hold the curse had on him. He remembers the arguments, the worries that he didn’t truly love her, the reassurances that he did. It had been a long haul for the two of them. He didn’t lie when he said he was a difficult man to love. She had done it though.

Right up to the very end.

He’s standing in front of the mirror, remembering a reunion from so very long ago, when he feels the shift in the air, hears the creak of one of the floorboards. The man has arrived and its time. He’s going to miss this shop, his home away from home for so very long. He wonders what will become of all the treasures it holds, who will take care of it in his absence.

He stays still, hears the man open the safe. He should think it’s easy… _too_ easy. But he doesn’t seem to wonder. He feels the moment the man’s hand closes around the hilt of the blade, that sort of twist and pull, memories of being controlled, of being forced to do someone else’s bidding, of hurting those he never wanted to hurt. It’s painful now, more than just a simple tug. He feels his heart drop into his stomach, squints his eyes shut. He’s no longer his own person.

This was a mistake…

_No_.

This was not a mistake. It can’t be. He knows the man will do what he needs. He _knows_. Because he’s been where this man is before. Because he knows the decision he’ll make. Because he knows what it means for _him_.

“Dark One, I summon thee.” The words. The proper words. He hears the shake behind the man’s voice and he _knows_.

He steps out of the shadows and watches as the man jumps back. He smiles, tight and feral. He doesn’t speak, waiting for the man’s next move.

“I need you…” The man starts to speak but the words falter as Rumplestiltskin takes another step toward him.

“Yes, dearie. What exactly is it that you need?”

“I need to make a deal.” The words rush out of the man as he leans heavily against the counter. Rumplestiltskin wants to pull him away from it, tell him this place is sacred, a shop of a thousand memories, mostly his own. He lived and loved and terrorized a town here once, long ago.

“This seems a rather odd way to make a deal,” he points out.

“You…”

“Yes?”

The man falls quiet and looks down at the dagger with a frown.

“You have unlimited power at your disposal now,” Rumplestiltskin says with a sneer, stepping closer, hand hovering over the dagger that he is unable to take even if he wants to. He’s put his life in this desperate man’s hands.

“I…do…yes.”

“Then _what_ are you going to do with it?” He leans forward and watches as the man’s eyes widen. He knows the moment the man realizes he’s too afraid to control him, too afraid of what that would mean for him. Someday he’ll get the dagger back, he thinks. Someday he’ll come after me, destroy me. Rumplestiltskin knows these thoughts, knows them well. He remembers the way his knees clenched together, the way his hand shook, the way his heart froze in the moments before he knew what he must do.

The man was close. He just needs a tiny…little…push. “You do know I’ll kill you someday, don’t you?”

And there it is. The slight widening of the eyes, the steeling of the man’s spine. The man grips the dagger harder, knuckles white. And then he brings it up, holds it out in front of him. It’s the moment of truth. How desperate is he? He can see the wheels turning, knows he’s remembering the boy’s words. _Kill him and you take his power_.

Then he’s turning the blade slightly, thrusting it forward and Rumplestiltskin feels it pierce the skin of his chest, plunging in deep. For a moment there’s nothing but pain, a sort of sickening feeling as the blood begins to pool around the wound, as his legs buckle beneath him. His ankle crumbles, no longer held together by his magic, and he falls, landing hard on the ground with the man almost on top of him, the man’s hand still gripping the blade in his chest.

And then there is a release. There’s a strange pulling sensation for a moment and then he feels lighter than he has in centuries. He feels alone, his mind no longer someone else’s, the voices swirling within him silenced. He lets out a strange wheezing laugh and meets the man’s eyes.

His are wide in horror. There’s no creeping color change to his skin, not here in Storybrooke, but he knows he feels it nonetheless, like ants crawling across and into his skin. “Why?” the man just barely chokes out.

“You wanted the power…” He has to take a breath here and it’s painful, so very painful, this body mortal and wounded. “You have it.”

“But…”

Rumplestiltskin lets out another wheezing laugh, his breath rattling around in a lung that has been pierced. He feels the world starting to fade. “Looks like you made a deal…” Another breath. “…that you didn’t understand.” Words that once introduced him to the world of the Dark One, hundreds of years ago. Now this man’s to own, to understand. He won’t…not yet. It will take years, centuries, for him to come to terms with the curse.

Rumplestiltskin’s head falls back as the man pulls the dagger from his chest. He knows his name is gone, replaced by this man’s, the new owner of the dagger. His eyes drift shut. This world is no longer his concern. _Belle_ …he can’t say her name, but it’s on his tongue as he feels the world fade away. _I’m coming to find you_ …

And then there’s nothing more as the darkness takes him, the shell of his body left surrounded by the precious objects of several lifetimes gone wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO SORRY.


End file.
